The girl shrank back in despair. “Oh, I can’t—I can’t!” she said, in a tense voice. “How can you expect it? My brother is seriously ill, perhaps dying. I must go to him. Surely you wouldn’t have the heart to keep me away? He is the only relative I have in the world! How can I act, and sing, and laugh, when there is a weight like lead at my heart?”
The stage-manager eyed her pityingly. “I know it’s very hard,” he said, in a softened voice. “But just consider a moment. You cannot get a train to Durlston to-night, for the last one went at about six o’clock; so you would have to wait till morning in any case. Now, suppose you go back to St. John’s Wood, what will you do? Simply sit still and make yourself ill with fretting, most probably. Whereas, if you remain here, your mind will, at least temporarily, be diverted into other channels. Miss Franks, I am sure you are a brave young lady. Won’t you try?”
“Oh, it’s cruel, Mr. Calhoun——” Grace Haviland began, but her brother would not allow her to finish the sentence.
Celia was well-nigh distracted. Although loth to cause the stage-manager so much inconvenience and bother, it would be too terrible to think of Herbert, perhaps dying, with none of his own kin near him, whilst she was playing on the hateful stage. Calhoun pulled out his watch, for the precious minutes were speeding away. All three looked at her in eager expectation. What would her answer be?
After what seemed an eternity, although it was in reality only about fifty seconds, she heaved a deep sigh.
“All right, I’ll go through with it,” she said with an effort. “Or at least I’ll do my best. But please—leave me alone—just for a few minutes.”
“That’s a brave girl!” exclaimed Haviland, with gratification. “I knew she wouldn’t put us in such a fix.”
“In seven minutes the call-boy will be here,” said the stage-manager; and then with a word of encouragement the two men withdrew.
Celia sat down at the table and buried her face in her hands. She tried to think, even to pray, but her senses seemed quite dulled. Fortunately the possibility of her stumbling or breaking down never entered her mind. She had promised to go through with it; and she meant to fulfil her promise. There might be tears and pain at heart, but there would be the usual stage-smile on her face. When she raised her head, there was an expression of almost fierce determination on her countenance. She would not, must not, fail!
Mrs. Jackson readjusted the details of her costume, whilst Grace tried to utter words of commiseration and encouragement. Then the former produced a small spirit-flask and glass, and bade Celia drink.